


Under the Chenille Blanket: Clinton Hill 1938

by FrostyEmma



Series: Under the Chenille Blanket [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bathtub Sex, Erotica, M/M, Photo Shoots, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-01-18 00:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12377469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyEmma/pseuds/FrostyEmma
Summary: “Who could take or leave food?” Bucky shook his head, then held up one bottle of Coke. “Speaking of, icebox or drink ‘em now?”“Now.” Steve nodded decisively. “We can drink ‘em in the bath.” He grinned and came over to Bucky, climbing into his lap and wrapping his arms around him. “You are going to join me in the bath, right?”After a rough few months, Steve is out of work and behind on the rent, with the threat of eviction looming over him. But because he's a stubborn little punk, he refuses to ask for any kind of help. Leave it to Bucky to figure out a way to come up with the money.Featuring Bucky doing whatever it takes to help his fella, Depression Era-style job hunting, sexy bathtime fun, and two kids who are ridiculously, stupidly in love with each other.





	1. Right Kind of Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The lie came easily. It always did; he had been practicing for years._
> 
> _“Nah.” Bucky leaned against the back counter and grinned. “She complains that it goes right to her waistline. But,” he shrugged, “that doesn’t stop her from clamoring for lemon meringue every time I bring one home.”_
> 
> _Well, that much was true anyway. Lemon meringue was Steve’s favorite._

**Red Hook, Brooklyn**  
**November 1938**

There was something lovely to look at in every season, Steve thought as he stood by the window looking out at the neighborhood. 

Summer brought deep blue skies, bright sunshine, open fire hydrants, and swell-looking dames in their shifts trying to beat the heat on the fire escape. Winter brought clean white snow to cover the dingy gray, Christmas decorations to the stores and the Christmas spirit to people’s hearts - and Bucky’s birthday, of course. Spring brought flowers and fresh green growth to the parks, new kittens and puppies to the stoops, and bright, cheery Easter fashions to the shop windows. And, as Steve saw that morning, the fall brought a blaze of color to the trees and bushes all around the neighborhood.

But all the prettying-up his artist’s eyes and mind could do to things wouldn’t stop the rent from coming due. And ever since his ma had passed two months ago, the back rent had kept right on piling up.

Steve blew out a sigh and turned away from the window. Bucky still lay in bed, his body contorted into his usual impossible sleeping position. He’d been spending the night a lot more frequently lately, and Steve had been glad of the company. The place felt too big sometimes, especially now that he had it all to himself.

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve leaned over the bed and shook him gently by the shoulder. “Come on, wake up. It’s getting on seven o’clock. You don’t want to be late for work.”

Bucky moaned and muttered something unintelligible, his face muffled by the pillow it was smooshed into.

“Come on, Buck.” Steve found himself smiling a little bit in spite of himself. Bucky loved sleep; he seemed to enjoy it like he would a good steak, and he threw himself into it with absolute abandon. “Mr. Cicalese’ll have me for lunch if I don’t get you to work on time.”

Bucky shifted slightly and cracked an eye open. “Then stop having me for a midnight snack and maybe I’ll wake up on time.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but Bucky had succeeded in pulling a little more smile out of him. Sad and despondent or not, Steve couldn’t bring himself to keep his hands off Bucky whenever he spent the night. And losing himself in the sweaty lines of Bucky’s naked body wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening. Or a midnight, as the case might have been.

“You weren’t complaining last night.” Steve nudged him again. “Not enough for me to pay attention to, anyway.”

Bucky snorted. “Well, what do you want? You kept telling me to be quiet. Keep it down.” He didn’t lift his head from the pillow. “Don’t wake the neighbors.”

“There’s got to be a middle ground somewhere.” Steve sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair. 

If he didn’t have Bucky, he thought suddenly, he wouldn’t have anyone. 

Bucky leaned into Steve’s hand. “Oh yeah? What middle ground is that? We make it under the blankets until we’re all hot and sweaty?” A smirk skittered across his face. “You’d probably like that.”

“I like _you_.” Steve gave him a small smile, one that didn’t stay in place for too long, and then lay down beside him again to curl up close to him and put his arms around him. “I love you.”

Bucky’s smirk melted into a smile at that and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Steve and pull him closer. “Tell you what,” he murmured into Steve’s ear. “Forget what’s in the icebox. When I get out of work, let’s go to Peking House, get you some of that chop suey you like so much.”

Steve hugged him tighter. “You’re so good to me, Bucky.” 

He wished - or at least the selfish part of him did - that Bucky could just stay there with him all day. That neither of them would need to leave the house, or even the bed. That they could lie there in each other’s arms for as long as they wanted. 

That the apartment could become a cocoon that hid them both away from the reality that waited just outside the door, the reality of bills and rent payments and scarce work and a tiny gray stone with the words _Sarah Rogers - Beloved Wife and Mother_ on it.

Bucky dropped a kiss on Steve’s forehead, then abruptly pushed himself into a sitting position. “Okay.” He ran a hand through his nest of hair, scrabbled for his underpants, and then hopped out of bed, pulling them on. “Coffee.”

He found his undershirt on the floor, yanked that over his head, and then stumbled out of the room. Steve could hear him puttering around in the kitchen, lighting the stove and plunking the percolator down on one of the burners, washing up at the sink, and checking for leftovers in the icebox.

“We have some of that pumpkin pie left,” he called. “You want a slice?”

Steve sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, a small smile coming to his face by degrees. Bucky had always treated Steve’s place as though it were home, and with good reason. For as long as Steve could remember, he and Bucky had been equally at home in both their apartments. 

“Nah,” Steve called back. “You eat it. I’m not hungry.”

He got up from where he was sitting and headed into the kitchen, where Bucky had set out the pie on the table. He’d have to go out today and see if he could pick up any work. Trouble was, either nobody was hiring at all or nobody wanted to hire him. But the landlord was only going to let him slide for so long before he just came home one day to find the locks changed and all his stuff gone.

“Besides,” he said as he sat down at one end of the table, “you’ve got to have your energy for work. Let me find a job first, then I’ll eat breakfast.”

“I keep telling you.” Bucky peered into the mirror on the shelf above the kitchen sink and ran a hand through his hair, then dipped a comb into the jar of pomade next to the mirror. “Go down to the WPA office and see what they got.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “I know.”

He would often get work through the WPA’s Federal Art Project, but he just hadn’t been able to find the wherewithal to get himself down there lately. He couldn’t properly explain it, except to say that lately, a fog of helplessness would sometimes descend over him and leave him incapable of doing anything at all for hours at a time. He’d just sit there, occasionally sketching, growing more and more despondent as he watched the hands of the clock turn, and only pull himself together when Bucky was due to come home.

That being said, the money was going to have to come from somewhere. And at some point, he was going to have to fight those bouts of helplessness and win, or they’d be the death of him.

Bucky finished with his hair and turned to face Steve. “So? Will you go?”

Steve gave Bucky a small smile. He always had Steve’s best interests in mind, even when Steve himself didn’t. “Yeah, I really ought to.”

“Not ‘ought to’, Stevie.” Bucky headed toward the bedroom. He had started keeping spare sets of clothing in one of Steve’s dresser drawers. “Should.”

“Those mean the same thing.” Steve furrowed his brow, then got up to shut off the burner under the coffee pot, which was perking away madly. He shifted it to a cool burner. “There’s no difference between ‘ought to’ and ‘should’, far as I know.”

“Okay, fine.” Bucky came back in a moment later, fully dressed and tugging his suspenders on. “You _ought_ to listen to me. You _should_ go down to the WPA office and get work. You _should_ not be such a mouthy little punk.” He smirked. “I _ought_ to slap you on the ass for that.”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at that as he poured them each a mug of coffee. Bucky had always been able to drag a smile or a laugh out of him even when he was at his lowest, and Steve loved him for that. Among other things.

“You _ought_ to eat your pie and head out the door.” Steve set down Bucky’s mug beside the plate of pie and sat down at the other end of the table. “Before Mr. Cicalese tells you you _should_ find another job.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, that ain’t happening.” He forked a mouthful of pie. “Where else is he going to find another mug who’ll open _and_ close six days a week that he can also trust to cash out and handle all the stock?”

“True.” Steve blew the steam from his coffee and took a scalding sip. “He knows how good he’s got it.”

Truth be told, it would have been easy to feel jealous of Bucky for his steady hours and the great relationship he had with Mr. Cicalese. Bucky wasn’t even remotely related to the old man, but the store was going to be his one day. Steve had nothing like that, and even if he did generally pull in more money than Bucky when he counted it all up, he sometimes went for weeks without a job. Like he had for the past seven weeks.

A few minutes later, Bucky deposited his plate in the sink and drained off the last of his coffee. He stood at the front door, pulling on his jacket and giving Steve a _look_.

“Good luck at the WPA.” He raised an eyebrow. “And don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I?” Steve grinned as he completed their years-old back-and-forth. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Punk,” he muttered, before pulling the front door shut, leaving Steve alone in the apartment.

\---

To his credit, Steve hadn’t waited very long after Bucky had left before heading out the door to the WPA. A short bus ride and a fair bit of walking brought him to the building, and he settled down to wait the hour or so it would take until it was finally his turn to ask for work.

The newspapers were brimming with the usual awful news out of Europe, but the headlines were screaming a story much closer to home: In the wake of a whirlwind of violence against German Jews, President Roosevelt had summoned the US Ambassador to Germany home from Berlin. Among other things, the President had said that he ‘could scarcely believe that such things could occur in a twentieth-century civilization’. And in all likelihood, Hitler wouldn’t be slow to recall his own ambassador from Washington.

Steve folded the newspaper unhappily. Despite Roosevelt’s unshakable resolve, despite his lofty idealism, despite his best efforts to keep the peace when everything was falling apart across the sea, it looked like there was going to be outright war in Europe before too long. Men like Hitler, like his lunatic compatriots Mussolini and Franco, and like the bloodthirsty warlord Tojo, seemed determined to try to rule the world with an iron fist. And sooner or later, someone was going to have to stop them.

“Fifty-two?” a harried-sounding woman called out from behind the reception desk. “Number fifty-two? You’re next.”

Hurriedly Steve stumbled to the receptionist. His number was checked, he was assigned a caseworker, and then was waved into the overcrowded office beyond. A sea of identical desks, staffed by weary-looking people who served even wearier-looking job seekers stretched out before him. 

The place reeked of exhaustion and desperation.

A heavyset, middle-aged woman in a checkered dress and horn-rimmed glasses sat behind the desk Steve had been directed to. The nameplate on the desk read ‘Florence Brewster’, though it was partially obscured by the myriad stacks of files piled across the desk.

She took one file off the top, flipped it open, and without looking up, said, “Steven Rogers?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve sat down. “I’ve been here a few times before. I’m an-”

“Artist, I know.” She scanned something written on one of the pages in the file. “You helped design and paint the mural in the children’s wing of East New York Hospital?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.” He smiled, thinking back on it. He’d made sure to work in a colorful sunrise behind a nice view of the Brooklyn Bridge, and he’d even painted one of the faces in the crowd to look like Bucky. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I live in Flatbush.” She tapped her pencil against the file. “You also did some work for Methodist Episcopal Hospital? And some… says here… general advertisements and billboards for WPA ventures?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I’ve also done advertisement posters on commission for a few businesses around Red Hook.” 

Which, he realized as he was saying it, she wouldn’t have seen either. Because she lived in Flatbush. 

He tried to rally all the same. “I can do my own designs, or I can work off of someone else’s. But it’s been a while since my last job, and I really need whatever you can give me.”

“Yes, it looks like you haven’t been assigned WPA work in about three months.” Finally she looked up, propping her chin in her hand. “Why is that, Mr. Rogers? Did the Red Hook commissions dry up?”

“No, ma’am.” He didn’t like the way this conversation was promising to go. “I just haven’t been out here in a while.” He swallowed, unwilling to be overly descriptive. “There was a… a family issue.”

She hummed in what could have been disapproval, but she didn’t press for details either. Instead she said, “How do you feel about teaching?”

“Teaching?” Steve’s brow furrowed. Did she mean to try and put him in a grammar school, teaching the kids how to paint? He didn’t think that would work out too well. “I don’t understand.”

“Community art center programs are one of the newer initiatives of the Federal Art Project,” she explained. “There’s two in Manhattan, one in Queens, and one opened in Brooklyn just a few months back. You’ll make and exhibit work, learn new skills from participating artists, and educate and instruct the community in various art techniques. It’s good, steady work, if you’re up for it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve could hardly contain his excitement at the news. It sounded like great work, and if it was as steady as she claimed, it could mean the chance to pay back all the money he owed and maybe start saving up a little bit as well. “I’m absolutely up for it. Absolutely. I won’t let you down if you give me this chance, I promise.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, but continued unperturbed. “It’s on Willoughby Ave out in Clinton Hill, so a bit of a hike from Red Hook.”

At least forty-five minutes to an hour on the subway, at Steve’s best guess. 

“I can make it,” he said, perhaps a bit recklessly. He needed the work, and this particular job sounded fairly plush despite the long ride. “How often?”

“Five days a week, with some evenings and weekends.” She wrote something in the file, then filled out a work order, stamped it, and handed it over the desk. “You can start as early as this Saturday morning.”

Which gave Steve three days. If he could manage to hold off his excitement for that long.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He stood up, clutching the paper in both hands and beaming. “I won’t disappoint you.”

\---

For what felt like the twentieth time that day, Bucky checked the clock in the store. It wasn’t even noon yet, business was slow, and there was only so many times he could straighten the stock or wipe down the soda counter before he started eating one of the fresh pies just for something to do.

Mr. Cicalese was making deposits at the bank, so idle conversation was out, and the newspapers featured one unnerving or depressing article after the other, so that was out, too.

What he really wanted to do - what was making his fingers itch - was get on the horn and find out if Steve had really gone down to the WPA office for work. However, any Joe in the hallway was likely to pick up the shared telephone and they’d have to go looking for Steve, and to be honest, Bucky wasn’t sure how he’d react if he found out Steve hadn’t even left the apartment.

He wiped down the counter again and forced himself not to look at the clock.

The bell over the front door jingled, and Bucky looked over to see a lean man in a crisp and neat gray suit enter. He gave the shelves a glance as he walked unhurriedly through the store, the heels of his glossy black shoes clicking loudly against the linoleum. He took off his snap-brim hat, revealing slightly thinning but immaculately combed brown hair, and tapped it absently against his thigh as he walked up to the soda counter. 

“Good morning,” Bucky said easily. “What can I get you?”

The man looked at the fountain, then at Bucky, and smiled as he set the hat down on the counter. “Small strawberry soda, please.”

“Right away.” Bucky smiled and turned toward the soda fountain, but not before adding, “You want a slice of caramel apple pie, too? It’s fresh, and even better than our apple-cranberry.”

“Why not?” The man shrugged, an easy smile on his face as he looked at Bucky, then around the store again. “Doesn’t look like anybody else is clamoring for it. I’d better take a piece off your hands.”

“Good idea.” Bucky slid the strawberry soda and a napkin across the counter. “Business is slow today and I was considering making a sample platter of all the pies for myself.” He served up a slice of the caramel apple pie. “A way to entertain myself as the hours tick by.”

“Well, I’d imagine that one of the perks of a day as slow as this one,” the man said with an appraising sort of glance as he picked up his fork and cut off the end of the slice, “is that you get to bring what’s left of the pies home to your girl.”

The lie came easily. It always did; he had been practicing for years. 

“Nah.” Bucky leaned against the back counter and grinned. “She complains that it goes right to her waistline. But,” he shrugged, “that doesn’t stop her from clamoring for lemon meringue every time I bring one home.”

Well, that much was true anyway. Lemon meringue was Steve’s favorite.

For a split second, the man looked a little bit deflated, but the expression vanished to be replaced by a smile.

“Aren’t dames all alike when it comes to sweets?” The man took a long sip of his strawberry soda and looked appraisingly at Bucky again. “Some of them clamor for furs and sparklers too, and we’re the ones who get to scrape together the dough for it.”

“Well, I’ll have to find myself a new girl when that happens,” Bucky said easily. “I’m not exactly pulling in the bread for silk robes and fancy perfumes.”

The image of luscious Frannie McDowell - red hair piled on top of her head and clad in one of those slinky Oriental robes provided by her Merchant Marine husband - drifted across his mind right then and he smiled. 

It had been a few weeks since he had seen Frannie. He made a mental note to pick up a few bottles of Coke and a pack of smokes and pay her a call. Provided her lunker of a husband was away; Jerry was no mook, but Frannie had proposed a threesome once or twice and Bucky wasn’t quite ready for that.

Especially since the proposed threesome didn’t involve Steve.

“Yeah, I can see that.” The man ate another forkful of pie, nodding sagely. “Not too many people really are pulling in the bread these days. There’s a real pinch going on.” He leaned in, lowering his voice confidentially. “Of course, there’s always money to be made for the right guy.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky said neutrally. 

The man chuckled. “Of course.” He shrugged and smiled into his strawberry soda, swirling the straw thoughtfully. “Especially for a guy with the right kind of look. A few pictures with the right lighting and the right kind of atmosphere can make a guy some quick and easy dough, provided he’s not shy.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you shy?”

For a brief, stupid moment, Bucky couldn’t quite decide if that was a come-on or not. It sure as hell sounded like one, but outside the underground club he and Steve occasionally visited, no man was that brazen.

But pictures? Atmosphere? 

“Depend on who’s asking,” Bucky finally said. “And why.”

“Interested?” The man smiled conspiratorially. “It’s not that complicated, really. There’s always interest in a new face. People lose interest in things they get to see all the time. But give them a little novelty - a new pretty face to look at and a new set of muscles to linger over - and suddenly they can’t get enough.”

Bucky said nothing to that. 

The man took another bite of pie. “That’s the ‘why’ part,” he said, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief. “As for who’s asking, I’m the only one you need to talk to. If you’re still interested, that is.”

It took Bucky a few seconds to find the words. 

“You asking me if I want to pose in dirty pictures? Is that what you’re asking?”

“Have you ever been to a museum?” The man didn’t seem perturbed at all. In fact, his smile didn’t waver an inch. “Ever walked around an art museum and seen all the paintings by those Italians and Frenchmen from a couple hundred years ago? A bunch of ladies in the altogether, that’s what they are, but nobody calls them dirty.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or the statue of David, the one where he’s wearing a laurel crown and nothing else? Who’d ever call that dirty?”

“I’m not much for art.” Bucky folded his arms. “I don’t have the right appreciation for it.”

“Point is,” the man continued, his smile still in place and his eyes gleaming, “there are people - lots of people - who do appreciate it. Enough to want to see a new face once in a while, like I said. And enough to make a tidy little pile of bread for that new face besides.” He raised his eyebrows briefly. “How’s a half-yard sound for a couple hours’ worth of standing around and looking pretty?”

Bucky worked his jaw, trying to come up with a proper response to that. Fifty dollars for a few hours of easy work? He barely made fifty dollars in a month.

“It’ll be tasteful.” The guy’s smile became easier, more confident. “Posing in your shorts, maybe a few muscle shots, one or two with your hand down there hefting the goods, and everybody goes home happy.” He chuckled. “Especially the guys who get to look at the finished product, am I right?”

Bucky felt like he had been doused with cold water and slapped in the face all at once. Suddenly alert - and angry - he pushed himself off the back counter and planted his hands down on the lunch counter.

“Show yourself out,” he said quietly. “Before I show you out.”

The smile on the guy’s face evaporated quickly. “All right,” he said quickly, standing up from his stool and raising both hands, palms out. “No need to get in an uproar.” 

He backed up a step or two from the counter, taking his hat but leaving his half-finished pie and soda where they were. He reached into his inside breast pocket and tossed a card on the counter.

“Just in case you change your mind,” he said, and then he was out the door.

Bucky watched the man go, resisting the urge to leap over the counter and physically throw him out. When the door jingled shut, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

The card lay face up on the counter. ‘Lawrence Sweeney’ was printed in bold type, with a telephone number underneath. Nothing else.

He blew out another breath and moved to clean up the leftovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE FIRST  
> The Work Progress Administration's Federal Art Project really did set up community art center programs as a way to keep artists employed during the Depression. Some of their work can still be seen in public buildings today. I like to imagine that the paintings Steve did for one of the hospitals survived to this very day.
> 
> NOTE THE SECOND  
> Questions, comments, kudos, and general conversation are warmly welcomed, appreciated, and hoped for!


	2. Peking House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Why are you so damn stubborn?” Bucky blew out a frustrated sigh. “What are you trying to prove here?”_
> 
> _“I’m not trying to prove anything.” Steve kicked at the ground and let his shoulders drop. “All I’m trying to say is, I can manage.”_
> 
> _Bucky looked at him for a long moment, then, “And I’m all saying is, you don’t have to. Not by yourself.” He started walking again. “But you don’t want to hear it.”_

Steve practically bounced up the stairs from the subway, a big stupid grin still on his face. Landing a job that’d keep him busy five days a week, with some evenings and weekends thrown in - and at his usual WPA wage, yet - was cause for celebration. And starting in three days’ time was even better than that; he’d have considered it a good thing if they’d given him something that started in a week.

“Hi, Mr. Cicalese.” 

He gave the old man a big smile as he came in the door of the drugstore. Mr. Cicalese looked up from the notebook he was doing his figuring in and gave him a grunt of acknowledgement. He didn’t have to tell Steve that Bucky was in the back. All he did was nod his head in that direction, and Steve was off like a shot.

“Hey, Buck!” He grinned as he pushed open the stockroom door; Bucky looked up from opening a box of what appeared to be stationery supplies. “You were right on the money about the WPA. Feel like hearing the good news?”

“Yeah, Stevie.” Bucky stood with a smile. “Hit me with the good news.”

“I’m going to be teaching art, apparently.” He practically bounced up and down with excitement. “They’re starting me on Saturday, and they want me to do it five days a week. Can you believe it? Some evenings and weekends too.”

“Wow.” Bucky glanced past the stockroom door - always so careful - before reaching out and caressing the back of Steve’s head. “You’re going to be raking in the cabbage.”

“What a change, right?” He leaned his head back into Bucky’s touch, beaming happily with his eyes closed. “Hey, maybe I’ll even be able to treat you to chop suey once in a while.”

“I like treating you,” Bucky murmured, lips just brushing against Steve’s forehead before he stepped back. “All right, I have a few more hours here. Why don’t you go home, get cleaned up? I’ll stop by my house, see how my ma and Becca are doing, and then we’ll go get chop suey, okay?”

A few hours later, they sat in a booth at Peking House. The walls were embroidered in red and gold and softly glowing lanterns were strung across the ceiling. Strange figurines in bronze and jade - of twisting dragons and laughing, big bellied men - were displayed on pedestals throughout the room, and the far wall was taken up by an enormous fish tank.

Steve could have spent hours just looking and sketching.

“So what kind of chop suey should we get?” Steve looked over the huge menu. There were about a hundred different kinds of chop suey, and just as many kinds of chow mein. Some of them sounded interesting, like the fried chicken chop suey and the shrimp chop suey, but some of them made no sense to him at all.

“Hey, what do you suppose ‘chicken subgum chop suey’ is?” He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Or ‘Staten Island chop suey’?”

“‘Staten Island chop suey’?” Bucky tapped his fingers against the menu. “That’s when it’s prepared by a clown and the waitress stabs you.”

Steve snorted with laughter, almost snorting his tea out his nose. As it was, he dribbled a bit down his chin.

“Okay,” he laughed, mopping himself with his napkin. “No ordering that then.” He shook his head. “It’s just as well; it’s twenty cents more expensive than the chicken chop suey.”

Bucky shrugged. “Because of the stabbing, probably.” He plucked a crispy noodle out of the bowl and dipped it into a cup of what the waitress called ‘duck sauce’. “I think my favorite thing about this place is the egg rolls. If we could just take home a bag of those…” 

“They’re not on the menu.” Steve frowned and checked again. “I guess we could always ask, though. Couldn’t be that expensive.”

“Maybe they’re hard to make, so everybody only gets one?” Bucky shrugged. “I’m not sure how we’d reheat the things anyway.”

The chicken chop suey was delicious, as usual, though Steve did promise himself that someday he’d try the ‘subgum’, whatever that was. And when the bill came, Steve reached over and snatched it up before Bucky could get there.

“I want to treat you this time, Buck,” he said off Bucky’s raised eyebrow. “I’m going to be getting decent money now, and I’ve been mooching off of you for way too long as it is. I owe you.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “You don’t _owe_ me anything, Steve. What kind of talk is that?”

“You’ve been paying for me all the time lately, and I feel bad about it.” Steve pulled out his wallet and laid a couple of bills on the table to cover the tab. “I don’t want to be the kind of guy who doesn’t contribute, you know? It’s not fair to you.”

The waitress came by, and Bucky let her collect the money without argument, but Steve could tell by the look on Bucky’s face that the discussion wasn’t over. And sure enough, as soon as they were walking home, Bucky said:

“You’re not the kind of guy who doesn’t contribute, Steve.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I’ve never thought that.”

“I know.” Steve wished he could loop his arm through Bucky’s and that they could walk home like they loved each other, but the best he could do was shove his own hands into his pockets and shoulder up to Bucky as they walked. “But I feel that way sometimes. Especially lately.”

Bucky frowned. “That’s different.”

“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t.” Steve shook his head and looked at the sidewalk. “It still doesn’t feel any better. And now that I’ve got a steady job lined up, I can afford to be as nice to you as you’ve been to me all along.” He smiled. “You deserve it, Buck.”

Instead of returning the smile, Bucky’s frown deepened. “I still think you should take a boarder. You have the space.” He shot a glance at Steve. “You know, if you won’t move in with us.”

“We’ve been over this, Bucky.” Steve scowled and jammed his hands deeper into his pockets. Or at least he stiffened his arms and tried to do so, anyway. “About a million times. You and your ma do more than enough for me as it is. I can’t be more of a burden. That isn’t right and it isn’t fair.”

“Burden?” Bucky stopped suddenly and glared at Steve. “Nobody thinks you’re a burden. _I_ sure as hell don’t think you’re a burden.”

“But it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be.” Steve walked a couple of steps further before he noticed Bucky had stopped so abruptly, and had to turn around. “You and your ma and Becca don’t have enough room as it is. How would it be if I suddenly moved in with all my stuff? Where would you even have room to walk around, with my drafting table and my bureau and everything? Your ma wouldn’t even be able to cook, there’d be that little space. And I’m not going to do that to you, not when you’ve done so much for me already.”

“So what?” Bucky shot back. “You just keep struggling in silence forever? That’s somehow better?”

“Yes.” Steve lifted his chin stubbornly. “Better than putting you and your ma in a tighter spot than you’re already in? Better than dragging your ma down with me when she’s the only family I’ve got left?” His voice began to quaver. “Miles better.”

“Listen to you.” Bucky glowered at him. “You wouldn’t be _dragging_ her down. That’s ridiculous. No one thinks that.” He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Everyone could use the money and the extra help. Isn’t that what we’re all here for?”

“You’ve all done so much for me already, though.” Steve fought to keep his face under control, but felt it crumpling bit by bit. Why was Bucky so bent on getting him to give in? “And I haven’t been able to give anything back. That’s not right. Not when we’ve all got so little to begin with.”

“Why are you so damn _stubborn_?” Bucky blew out a frustrated sigh. “What are you trying to prove here?”

“I’m not trying to _prove_ anything.” Steve kicked at the ground and let his shoulders drop. “All I’m trying to say is, I can manage.”

Bucky looked at him for a long moment, then, “And I’m all saying is, you don’t have to. Not by yourself.” He started walking again. “But you don’t want to hear it.”

“Aw, come on, Buck.” Steve hurried to catch up. “I know I’m not by myself. Why do you think I ask you to spend the night all the time? Why do you think I come by the store every day and bug you?” 

Bucky said nothing, but his expression softened somewhat.

“Look.” Steve shouldered into him. “The truth is, I don’t want to move out of my place. It’d be like leaving home, and I’m just not up for that now. And I don’t want to take in a boarder, because it’d just feel like having a stranger in my house instead of my ma.” He blew out a sigh. “Plus, then I wouldn’t be able to have you spend the night at all.”

Bucky snorted. “Now there’s the real truth.” Abruptly he swung an arm around Steve’s neck and pulled him closer, half-dragging him down the street. “C’mon, let’s get you home, get ossified, and make some noise.”

A few minutes later, Steve was rattling the key in the lock, his mind running wild with images of what the pair of them were about to get up to, when he heard a voice he hadn’t really wanted to hear. Not until after Saturday, anyhow.

“Where you coming home from at this hour, Rogers?”

Steve turned to see the landlord there, standing at the corner of the porch as though he’d been waiting for Steve a long time. The yellow electric bulb reflected off his pinkish scalp through the slicked-down strands of black hair he’d grown long to comb across it. He wore his usual cardigan sweater and pleated trousers, and he didn’t look very pleased at all.

“Hi, Mr. Bonetti.” Steve smiled politely. “Listen, I’ve got some great news for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Mr. Bonetti scowled. “Does it have anything to do with the three months of rent you owe me?”

Next to him, Bucky’s eyes widened and he actually mouthed the words ‘three months.’

“Yeah, that’s right,” Mr. Bonetti said. “Three months, no rent.”

“And you know I’m grateful for every single day of those three months,” Steve cut in. He didn’t like the way this was shaping up to go, and he hoped he could head it off by placating Mr. Bonetti with his good news. “But just listen. I have a new job. I’ll be starting on Saturday, and it’ll be steady work. Five days a week, they told me. I’ll be able to start paying you back as soon as I get my first pay envelope.”

“That is good news,” Mr. Bonetti agreed. “Because you owe me thirty-six bucks. And by the time you get that pay envelope, it’ll be closer to thirty-nine.”

“Hey, easy.” Bucky held out a hand. “He’s been through a rough time lately.”

“I know that.” The landlord scowled. “You don’t think I know that? Which is why I didn’t come after him sooner, but enough is enough.”

Bucky licked his lips, but before he could say anything, Steve jumped in with:

“Look, Mr. Bonetti, I don’t blame you for being upset. And if it helps, I won’t even open the envelope before I hand it to you. It’ll be an earnest deposit, just so you can be sure you’ll get everything I owe you.”

Mr. Bonetti snorted. “I’m not looking for an earnest deposit, Rogers. The time for earnesty has passed. I expect thirty-nine dollars by next week, or you’ll be looking at an eviction notice.” 

Steve felt his chest go cold at that news. Mr Bonetti stomped off toward the stairs, not even bothering to look back. After he’d passed, Bucky made as if to stalk off after him, but Steve held out his arm and shook his head. After all, what good would it do him if Bucky planted a boot in his landlord’s ass over money that was fairly and honestly owed?

“It’ll be all right, Buck.” He sighed and turned back to the door. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah?” Bucky followed Steve inside and didn’t even take his jacket off before starting in. “Like what? Goddammit, Steve, you didn’t tell me you hadn’t paid the rent in _three_ months.”

“With what money, Bucky?” Steve turned around, his stomach clenching. “I had to use my ma’s widow’s pension to pay the last of her doctor’s bills and the funeral. And I didn’t have any work, so what was I supposed to do?”

A strange, hurt expression flitted across Bucky’s face, but it was quickly replaced by frustration. “You were supposed to tell me, Steve. You were supposed to tell me so we could figure something out together.”

“I didn’t want to give you any more problems.” Steve sank into the easy chair and put his head in his hands. “I’ll have to see if they can give me an advance or something. Maybe if I can give him half of it up front, in cash…”

Bucky said nothing. He didn’t even sit down.

And all Steve had wanted was a nice evening with Bucky. A nice celebratory dinner followed by a night of drunken, unclothed fun and games. And instead, he’d just found out that he was going to be evicted after spending his last couple of dollars on Chinese food.

“Look,” Bucky finally said into the silence. “I’m going to go home for a bit. Becca and my ma have been asking after me, and we don’t want anyone asking too many questions.”

“All right.” Steve felt himself sink a little lower into the chair. Everything was going wrong, and he had no idea how to fix it. “I understand.”

Bucky stood there for a moment. “Okay.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Okay then. Thanks for dinner, Stevie.”

The door closed behind him a moment later.

\---

Bucky went home and had coffee and leftover apple-cranberry pie with his mother and sister. They had a pleasant enough chat; Becca was in her final year of high school and thinking of applying to secretary school. Her grades were so good that their parish had offered to pay half the tuition, even.

“Which means providing the other half shouldn’t be a problem,” his ma said. “So long as we’re very careful.”

“That’s a real good career, Becca.” Bucky smiled at her over his coffee cup. “Good, steady work. You’ll be in the money.”

Possibly she could get work at the Domino Sugar Refinery, where their ma had worked on the processing line for nearly two decades. The place was expanding, and they always had need of a good, trained secretary.

Becca returned the smile, though it was slightly strained. “So long as we can come up with the rest of the money by June.”

“It’s only November.” Bucky drained off his coffee. “We’ll come up with it. I’ll work extra hours if needed.”

He already worked opening to closing six days a week, but he could easily add a seventh. Mr. Cicalese had always been good about giving him more hours. 

Becca frowned though. “You’d be working seven days a week.”

Bucky shrugged. “We’ll manage. Don’t you worry about it.”

After the kitchen was cleaned up, Bucky pulled the baseboard off the bathtub, set pots of water to boil on the stove, and eventually got the tub filled with hot water. 

He sat in in the tub long after the water had gone lukewarm.

Becca deserved the opportunity to go to secretary school and earn herself a solid, well-paying career. Assembly-line work at the refinery was steady, yeah, but she had a sharp mind, and Bucky wanted more for her.

And Steve deserved to catch a break for once. He was so earnest and so talented, and he shouldn’t have had to scrabble for every last Goddamn thing. 

Bucky scrubbed both hands over his face and sank further into the tub.

God, they never had any fucking money.

He got out of the tub, drained it, and got dressed. And before he could over-think things and talk himself out of it, he found himself in the hallway, picking up the shared telephone, business card in hand.

“Mr. Sweeney...? Yeah, I’m the guy from the drugstore earlier today. About that offer…”

\---

The next day at work, Bucky didn’t realize just how jittery he was until Mr. Cicalese finally said something around mid-afternoon.

“What’s the matter with you, Bucky?” The old man looked at him over the top of his bifocals. “You’ve been on edge all day. You got a date or something?”

Bucky blew out a breath. “Something like that.”

“Something like that?” Mr. Cicalese shook his head. “Well, it’s about time. It’s been a while since I seen you with a girl.”

Bucky shrugged. “Been busy.”

Mr. Cicalese snorted at that. “Not so busy you should let your social life wither. That ain’t healthy, especially for a young man.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that.

Finally Mr. Cicalese waved him toward the door. “Take a walk around the block, would you? Your nervous energy is giving _me_ the shakes.”

Bucky took three walks around the block, in fact, though it didn’t help much. The day finally ended though, and Bucky was hanging his apron up in the stockroom and thinking he would just slip out the back, when the door opened and Steve slipped inside.

He bit back a sigh. 

“Hi, Buck.” Steve sounded as glum as he looked. “I missed you last night.”

“Yeah?” Bucky cast about for something neutral to say and just barely resisted the urge to dart past Steve and out the door. “You seemed like… you seemed like you needed a break.”

“A break from you?” Steve looked hurt, and Bucky felt himself deflate a bit. “Not likely.”

Shit.

“That’s not… that’s not how I meant it.” Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to find the words. “It’s just… I don’t… I don’t think you would’ve been up for much. Like you just needed to think and sleep.”

“Well, there was plenty of thinking.” Steve sighed, jamming his hands in his pockets and frowning at the floor. “Not a whole lot of sleep, though.” He shook his head. “I think my best choice right now is to ask for some kind of an advance on my pay from the WPA and hope Mr. Bonetti’s satisfied with most of the money instead of all of it.”

“We’ll think of something,” Bucky said quickly, and couldn’t help but look past Steve to the door again. 

He needed to go, and soon. Before he lost his nerve. Before Mr. Sweeney got there. Before he could think too deeply about any of it.

Steve and Becca needed him.

“Are you all right, Bucky?” Steve frowned at him. “You’re acting kind of oddly, and your hair’s a mess.”

Bucky’s hand automatically shot to his hair. “It’s not a mess.” He scowled. “That’s just how it looks.”

His hair was a mess. One of Mr. Sweeney’s instructions had been for Bucky to not put any pomade in his hair. “The natural, tousled look is more _invigorating_ ,” he had said, and Bucky tried not to think too hard about what that meant. 

“Sure, when you first wake up.” Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “And anyway, you seem like you’re a bit off. What’s the matter?”

Bucky cycled through the possible responses in his head. He could slap a smile on his face and insist nothing was wrong, but that would be too abrupt and Steve wasn’t an idiot. He could say he was just really busy, really tired, really stressed, really _something_ , but there was a good chance Steve would suggest they go back to his place and work off a little steam. 

He could definitely blow past Steve and disappear - no way the little punk could keep up with him - but Steve was a scrappy little shit and there’d be hell to pay later.

“I’m hungry,” was what he finally came up with. He grabbed his jacket off the hook and pulled it on. “That’s all.”

“You’re always hungry.” Steve folded his arms and snorted. “How about you bring home some more of that pie then?”

“Listen, Steve, I gotta run.” 

He hated lying to him. Hated it, but what other choice did he have? 

“Becca’s been missing me lately and she wants me home for dinner. And I can’t say no to that, because I haven’t been around much.” He couldn’t resist, and he reached out and stroked Steve’s cheek. “I’ll be over tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay.” Steve leaned into Bucky’s hand, reaching up to take Bucky’s wrist. “Listen, Buck, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the rent. It was dumb, I know. But I’ll figure it out, all right?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Let me know!


	3. Tease Reel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Evening, ma’am.” Mr. Sweeney set down his camera bag and took off his hat, smiling over at Frannie. “You never told me your lady friend was such a swell looker, young man.”_
> 
> _Bucky took a drag on the cigarette. “My lady friend’s not available, but don’t worry, mister. You’ll get your money’s worth.”_

Steve’s whispered _”I love you,”_ drove Bucky down the block, up several flights of stairs, and right to Frannie McDowell’s door. 

No backing out. 

Steve and Becca needed him, and with that thought, he knocked on the door, closed his eyes and took a breath, and waited.

The door swung open a moment later, and Frannie - beautiful red hair piled on top of her head and soft curves accented in a green, silk, Oriental-style robe - leaned on the doorframe and looked up at him.

“Well, hello there.” She smiled at him with her Cupid’s-bow mouth and arched a single perfect eyebrow. “You look nervous. Why don’t you come inside and relax for a bit before your photographer friend gets here?”

“He’s hardly a friend.” Bucky followed Frannie through the door and shrugged off his jacket. “But thanks for doing this.”

Frannie’s place - decorated with ornate paper screens and hanging lanterns and all manner of exotic things brought back by her Merchant Marine husband - was a much more suitable location for what Bucky was about to do. Besides, it wasn’t like he could bring Mr. Sweeney to his own place or Steve’s.

“Not a problem.” Frannie struck a match and lit the cigarette in the long filter she held between her fingers. She blew a thin stream of smoke out of the corner of her mouth and shook out the match. “I was thinking it ought to be interesting to watch. I’ve never gotten to see anything like this before.” She looked at him. “But you look like you’ve got the jitters.”

He shot her a look. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Couldn’t say. I’ve never offered to let a fella photograph me in my birthday suit before.” Frannie pursed her lips and blew out a single smoke ring, then smiled. “But that’s hardly the point.”

Bucky sighed and pushed a hand through his messy hair.

Frannie picked up her cigarette case from the table and opened it, holding it out to Bucky. “Here. Have one. It’ll help you calm down.”

Bucky snorted, but took a cigarette all the same and let Frannie light it for him. “I’d be better off with a few bottles of brew.” He blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “But I don’t think Mr. Sweeney wants me ossified.”

“You never know.” Frannie cocked an eyebrow at him again. “Maybe a good-looking, tipsy fella’s just what people want to see in their blue photos.” She shrugged, smiling. “Or maybe that little hint of nervousness is exactly what he wants.”

By the time Mr. Sweeney knocked at the door, Bucky was slouched in one of the parlor chairs, working through his second cigarette. It had only done a little bit to take the edge off, but better that than looking like a complete rube.

“Evening, ma’am.” Mr. Sweeney set down his camera bag and took off his hat, smiling over at Frannie. “You never told me your lady friend was such a swell looker, young man.”

Bucky took a drag on the cigarette. “My lady friend’s not available, but don’t worry, mister. You’ll get your money’s worth.”

“I know it.” Mr. Sweeney gave him a knowing smile and hung his snap-brim on the hat stand by the door. “Shall we get started then? Ma’am, I’d be obliged if you’d dim the lights a bit.”

As Frannie went through the parlor snapping off the lights, all except the two coral-pink diffuser lamps on the end tables, Mr. Sweeney opened up his bag and set up his camera.

“Over there, if you please.” He gestured towards the far wall. “By the Oriental screen. Take off your shirt and your shoes, but leave your undershirt on.” He smiled as he picked up the camera. “We’ll get a series of you wearing less and less. They’ll eat it up.”

Without breaking Mr. Sweeney’s gaze, Bucky stubbed out his cigarette, unlaced his shoes, and tossed them aside. He slid his suspenders off his shoulders, letting them hang around his legs, and then unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, and set that aside as well.

He glanced over at Frannie. She winked back at him.

“Oh, no, wait.” Mr. Sweeney smiled suddenly and gestured at Bucky. “Put the suspenders back up, and let me get a shot of you in the middle of taking them down.” He raised his camera and peered through the viewfinder. “Hook your thumbs in them and then take them down slowly.”

That part was easy enough. Bucky did that every day of his life, and he could even ignore the _click-snap_ of the camera. 

So far, not so bad.

“Gorgeous.” Mr. Sweeney smiled and lowered the camera. “You’re a swell new face, all right. They’re just going to love you.”

“I’ll bet.” Bucky tried not to think about just who ‘they’ were.

“All right.” Mr. Sweeney wound the camera and shifted to the side a bit. “Now your undershirt. Just lift up the front of it with one hand, so we can show them the muscles.” 

“You’re looking good,” Frannie murmured encouragingly, her cigarette and her eyes both smoldering. 

That dragged a smile out of Bucky. It had been a few years since he and Frannie had made it, but she was easy on the eyes and he wouldn’t have minded another few rounds with her, should the opportunity ever present itself. 

It was easy enough to pretend that he was undressing for her. 

“Really good,” offered Mr. Sweeney as the camera clicked away. “Now give me a bit of a pout.” He smiled behind the camera. “And your other hand, just hook your thumb in your pocket and let your fingertips come close to the goods. Give them a little hint of what you’re going to do for them in a minute or two.”

What he was going to do for _Frannie_ in a minute or two.

He could pout for her. Slide his fingers closer to the _goods_. Run his hand over the planes of his chest and imagine her own soft hands on his bare skin a moment later.

Easy enough.

Before long, Mr. Sweeney had him slowly unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down. His undershirt lay crumpled on the floor somewhere. 

“Perfect,” Mr. Sweeney whispered, once Bucky had presented himself to the camera in nothing but his undershorts. “They’ll be drooling over you. Ready to pop by the second picture.” He raised the camera, then hesitated. “Hold on. I’ve got just the thing.”

He dug in his bag and came up with what looked like a perfume atomizer. But when he sprayed it at Bucky, there was no scent.

“It’s just water,” he said by way of explanation. “To make it look like you’ve got a nice sheen of sweat going.” He smiled and put the atomizer down, picking up the camera again. “These are going to be some great shots.”

Bucky licked his lips and ran his hand over the bulge in his shorts, to Mr. Sweeney’s murmured words of encouragement and Frannie’s hum of approval. At Mr. Sweeney’s suggestion, Frannie moved the Oriental screen aside so Bucky could lean back against the bookcase, close his eyes, and run his fingers just along the inside of his waistband.

He didn’t think of Steve. 

Didn’t want to think of the expression on Steve’s face if he knew. 

Mr. Sweeney misted him with more water and even reached out and tousled his hair. “Can you even imagine how much they’re going to spill looking at you?”

Bucky didn’t really want to imagine that, but he felt compelled to reply all the same. “Well, I guess they’ll get their money’s worth. We’ll all go home happy.”

“We certainly will.” Mr. Sweeney snapped another photo and wound the camera, then looked at Bucky appraisingly. “Now get your hand down your shorts and stroke yourself. Get it nice and hard.”

Bucky licked his lips. Hesitated.

“Go on,” Mr. Sweeney whispered. “This is what they’ll really want. It’s what we call the ‘tease reel’.”

“Do you need any help?” Frannie murmured from over on the sofa.

Bucky glanced at her and worked up a smile. “Just looking at you is all the help I need, babydoll.” He took a breath and slid his hand down his shorts, wrapping his fingers around his soft cock. 

“That’s it,” Mr. Sweeney said quietly. “Just like that. Close your eyes. Tip your head back. Breathe.”

Images of Frannie - her Cupid’s bow mouth, the swell of her breasts and curve of her hips - flitted across Bucky’s mind as he stroked himself into hardness. He remembered the first time she had taken him in her mouth - a ‘French’, she called it - when he had been seventeen. Best afternoon of his life up until that point.

Steve had been so jealous.

_Click-snap._

He could see Steve’s blue eyes gazing up at him as his warm, wet mouth worked itself over Bucky’s cock. He could feel Steve’s tongue swirl gently around the head and down the underside of his shaft until he had taken all of Bucky into his mouth. He could see Steve’s head bobbing up and down the length of his cock until Bucky came with a cry, spilling endlessly into Steve’s eager mouth.

Oh yes.

He could feel Steve sliding into him, pumping in and out of him slowly until Bucky had to cover his own mouth with his hand to keep from screaming, to keep from begging Steve to fuck him, _please_ fuck him, harder, harder.

A moan slipped out of his mouth.

“Just like that,” Mr. Sweeney murmured. “Take it nice and slow. Don’t want it to be over too quickly.”

_Click-snap._

“Take your hand out for a second.” Mr. Sweeney’s voice was low. Almost seductive. “Let’s see what that bulge looks like without a hand there to help it along.”

Almost reluctantly - and a bit breathlessly - Bucky drew his hand away and braced it on the bookshelf.

Mr. Sweeney sucked in his breath appreciatively and let it out in a slow, satisfied sigh that was punctuated by three fast clicks of the camera. “ _Very_ nice.” 

Frannie let out a barely-audible breath of laughter at that and blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling.

“Very nice,” Mr. Sweeney repeated, moving forward to spray another mist of water on Bucky’s chest and shoulders. “Now put your hand back down there and let’s get a few more shots of you with your eyes closed.”

They cycled through a few more poses after that: Bucky on his knees, gazing up at the lens; with his back to the camera, glancing over his shoulder; leaning back against the bookcase, hands in his hair. And between every pose, Mr. Sweeney would mist him with a cloud of water, until Bucky was dripping wet.

“All right.” Mr. Sweeney gave him a smile that was mostly a leer. “Time to drop those drawers and get to the moneymaking poses.”

Bucky was in the middle of pushing a hand through his damp hair, but he froze at those words. “What?”

On the sofa, Frannie raised an eyebrow.

“We’ve got them all wound nice and tight now,” Mr. Sweeney said with obvious satisfaction. “A couple of shots that show them everything they’ve been imagining and they’ll let loose without even giving themselves a tug.” He raised the camera again. “Slide them down.”

“Ain’t happening, buddy.” Bucky glowered at him. “You said a couple of shots in my shorts, a couple with me hefting the goods, and by my count, we did a lot more than couple. I think we’re square.”

“Square?” Mr. Sweeney lowered the camera, his composure clearly slipping. “If some dame wound you up like a Swiss watch and then gave you the blow-off, you’d be bent as a tin nickel. You don’t just go giving out a tease and not follow through. Now drop your drawers. And shake a leg about it.”

“I might be bent, but them’s the breaks.” Bucky licked his lips and kept his gaze steady. “We had a deal. Now follow through on your end.”

“The deal was for a photo set I could use.” Mr. Sweeney’s eyebrows had lowered and knit, and his slick, easygoing demeanor had completely evaporated. “What am I supposed to do with a bunch of tease shots and no finish, genius?”

Bucky worked his jaw and breathed through his nose. Tried to remain calm, despite being dripping wet and wearing nothing but undershorts. 

Mr. Sweeney shook his head in obvious disgust. “You want the dough? Then drop your drawers, get yourself hard again, and give me some shots I can sell. Otherwise, that half-yard goes to cover my wasted time and film.” He folded his arms. “Your choice, pally.”

“Now wait just a minute.” Frannie sat up and frowned. “That sounds an awful lot like a strongarm play to me, mister. He did what you told him you wanted, now you’re going to welch?”

Mr. Sweeney didn’t even look at her. “Nobody asked you, you dingy broad.” 

Bucky grabbed Mr. Sweeney by the collar and slammed him against the bookcase hard enough to knock several books off the shelf. They clattered to the floor, along with Mr. Sweeney’s camera.

“You don’t talk to her like that, asshole.” He tightened his grip on Mr. Sweeney’s collar. “Now hand over the money, apologize to the lady, and show yourself out.” He smiled thinly. “Or I’ll show you out myself.”

Mr. Sweeney’s eyes went wide, and all the bluster drained right out of him. He nodded mutely, his face beginning to redden, and fished in his pocket for the money. He came up with a handful of bills, pressed them into Bucky’s hand, and was out the door in an awful hurry with his things the moment Bucky turned his collar loose.

“You’d make a good rent collector.” Frannie picked up the fallen books and reshelved them, then sat down and lit another cigarette. “Though I didn’t get my apology.”

Bucky exhaled and pushed a hand through his hair. “Want me to chase him down and drag him back in?”

“I’d just as soon never lay eyes on that particular mug again.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Did he at least give you everything he promised? Or was it a bunch of double-folded singles?”

A flash of panic shot through Bucky and he quickly counted out the money, not breathing until he knew he had all fifty dollars.

“It’s there.” He found his pants on the floor, fished his wallet out, and stuffed the money inside. “Good thing, or I’d be chasing that asshole down the street in my shorts.”

Frannie snorted, two streams of smoke coming out of her nose, and shook her head. “He’ll still be able to sell the photos. Jerry’s brought blue magazines home before, and I don’t ever remember seeing any full nudes.”

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged and began pulling his clothes back on. He’d had enough of standing around wet and half-naked, thank you very much. “I figured he’d do something with them. So long as they don’t end up around the neighborhood, everything is copacetic.” 

“Doubtful.” Frannie stood up and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a towel. “He probably goes out looking for his talent a borough or two away from where he lives and looks to sell the photos in Jersey or Pennsylvania.” She tossed Bucky the towel and sat back down on the sofa, crossing her legs comfortably. “Harder for any interested parties to make a connection that way.”

“So some clown in Jersey is going to yank it to my pictures?” Bucky toweled his hair dry. “I can live with that. I’ll never meet the asshole.”

“He was probably planning to keep them himself,” Frannie added thoughtfully, her cigarette holder trailing a ribbon of smoke as she held it between her fingers. “The nudes, I mean. He’d never be able to sell them without risking a doozy of an obscenity rap.”

Bucky had no idea how to reply to that. Finally he just snorted and shook his head, then folded up the towel and set it aside. 

Frannie took another drag on the cigarette, looking at him appraisingly for a long moment. “He must really be worth it,” she finally said with a smile.

“He’s a pain in the ass, that’s what he is.” He buttoned up his shirt, a stupid smile drifting across his face. “A mouthy, stubborn pain in the ass.”

“You’re dizzy for him.” Frannie smiled warmly. “Absolutely sappy. It’s adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky shrugged into his suspenders, then sat down in one of the parlor chairs, pulled his shoes on, and began lacing them up. “I just don’t want him getting kicked out of his place, you know?” 

“I do.” Frannie took another drag, blew a stream of smoke toward the wall, and smiled. “And I know you really do love that boy.”

“Yeah.” Another smile tugged at the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “Yeah, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	4. Squeaky Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Oh yeah?” Bucky licked his lips. “What’d you have in mind, Stevie?”_
> 
> _“Well, you’ll be nice and scrubbed and shiny then.” Steve trailed his fingers over the back of Bucky’s neck. “I bet you’ll taste all fresh, too. Every inch of you.” He flicked Bucky’s earlobe with his tongue. “I can’t wait to see how you taste fresh out of the bath.”_

Fortunately, Steve had been able to duck Mr. Bonetti ever since their last meeting. 

He didn’t imagine the landlord’s impatience with him would get any better if they ran into each other and Steve was still light three months’ rent. And Steve had a pretty good idea that heading down to the WPA or the art center to ask for a forty-dollar advance before he’d even done a single day’s worth of work would be a swell way to put an end to that job.

He’d decided to take a bath, and after clearing the board off the top of the tub and turning on the tap to fill the tub partway, he’d put some water on the stove to boil. He got lost for a moment in thinking how nice it would be to live in a place with actual hot running water, instead of needing to boil pots and pots of water every time he wanted to have a bath. Or maybe to live in a place with a shower, like the ones they’d had in school.

He’d listened to a bit of the game on the radio while trying to get a few sketches together for his first day, but he’d wound up getting so engrossed in his drawing that he hadn’t ended up hearing much of the game beyond the first few minutes. And he was so deeply into a detailed sketch of his own hand that he didn’t even hear the door open behind him.

“Hey, Stevie.” He turned to see Bucky push the door closed with his foot. He balanced a casserole dish and a full paper bag in his hands. “You didn’t come by the store, so I stopped by my place to pick up dinner. And,” he smiled, “I got Twinkies and Cokes for dessert.”

“Aw, Buck.” Steve got up to help him with the food, gratitude swelling up in his chest and threatening to spill over messily. “You didn’t have to do all that. I would’ve been happy enough with you just coming by.”

Bucky let Steve take the casserole dish from him. “Nah, Becca knows that if we don’t feed you, you won’t eat.” He pointed to the dish. “There’s enough in there to last you a few days.”

Steve set the heavy dish down on the stovetop next to the boiling pots of water and lifted off the lid. Ham and noodles topped with creamed mushrooms. It’d last him a week, easy. Or a few nights, if he shared it with Bucky.

“Are you going to stay?” he asked hopefully. “The night, I mean, not just for dinner.” 

Bucky shrugged out of his jacket and draped it on the back of a chair. “Well, I did bring those Twinkies. I want to get a few of those in me, at least.”

“I’d have figured you already ate one or two on the way over.” Steve checked the pots on the stove before turning back to Bucky with a smirk. “You and your appetite.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t eat any on the way over.” He sat down at the table, dug into the paper bag, and removed the bottles of Cokes and four packages of Twinkies. “Tempting, but I somehow managed to keep control.”

Steve chuckled.“Control? You?” He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “You should’ve told me you bought a pack for yourself and ate that on the way over. I’d’ve believed that.”

Bucky snorted. “Listen here, wise guy, you wanna talk about self-control? I’m not the one waking his fella up for a little midnight snack.”

“Well, that’s a completely different set of circumstances, isn’t it?” Steve put on a mock-wounded face, fighting hard not to smile. “That’s pretty much the only appetite I’ve got. Food I can usually take or leave, but who could wake up next to you with a hard-on and not need to do something about it?”

“Who could take or leave _food_?” Bucky shook his head, then held up one bottle of Coke. “Speaking of, icebox or drink ‘em now?”

“Now.” Steve nodded decisively. “We can drink ‘em in the bath.” He grinned and came over to Bucky, climbing into his lap and wrapping his arms around him. “You are going to join me in the bath, right?”

Bucky slid his arms around Steve’s waist and smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty clean right now.”

Steve leaned forward and whispered in Bucky’s ear. “And how clean are you going to feel after I tell you what I’ve got in mind for after the bath?” He nipped Bucky’s earlobe, smiling when Bucky shivered.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky licked his lips. “What’d you have in mind, Stevie?”

“Well, you’ll be nice and scrubbed and shiny then.” Steve trailed his fingers over the back of Bucky’s neck. “I bet you’ll taste all fresh, too. Every inch of you.” He flicked Bucky’s earlobe with his tongue. “I can’t wait to see how you taste fresh out of the bath.”

“I was thinking about you yesterday,” Bucky breathed, fingers beginning to knead the globes of Steve’s ass. “Thinking about the way you use your mouth on me. The way you look at me when you’re using your mouth.”

“You want me to look you in the eyes while I French you?” Steve whispered against Bucky’s neck, beginning to move his hips back and forth against Bucky’s lap. “I like the way you look when you’re about to lose it.”

Bucky sucked in his breath, another delicious shiver spasming down his body. “Why?”

“Because it lets me know I’m doing a good job.” Steve rocked against Bucky, feeling the beginnings of a very nice bulge in Bucky’s pants. He pulled back, smiled, and began undoing the buttons on Bucky’s shirt. “And I like doing a good job on you.”

“God, you’re fresh.” Bucky just grazed Steve’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “How’d you get to be so fresh?”

Steve didn’t bother replying. He just leaned forward and planted a long, slow, lingering kiss on Bucky’s lips, his tongue darting out to flick against Bucky’s, and ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky moaned into Steve’s mouth, and for a long moment, Steve simply enjoyed the feel of Bucky’s tongue meeting his own, of Bucky’s curls entwined in his fingers. 

And he didn’t stop grinding against Bucky’s lap - the bulge now a pleasurable firmness.

Oh, he was going to enjoy their bath.

He moved his hands away from Bucky’s hair, undid the rest of Bucky’s buttons - somewhat clumsily, as he was doing it without looking - and pulled Bucky’s shirt open and out of his trousers, hurriedly sliding the suspenders off of Bucky’s shoulders as he did so. He wanted the thing gone, out of the way, and after a bit of a struggle - and a bit of help from Bucky - he finally tossed the shirt aside.

“I love this,” he murmured against Bucky’s mouth as they kissed. “I love _you_.”

He put the palms of both hands against Bucky’s stomach, working his fingertips under the hem of his undershirt and sliding his hands up the front of his body, kissing Bucky hungrily as he went. He could feel firm muscle under his hands as he steadily pushed the undershirt up Bucky’s chest, and he just wanted everything gone. 

Wanted Bucky bare and ready and in the bath with him, and he was starting to feel delirious with how much he _wanted_.

“You’re pretty eager tonight.” Bucky’s breath was hot against Steve’s neck, his fingers skittering down the back of Steve’s pants and working the hem of his shirt free. “Almost as if we hadn’t done this just a few days ago.”

“That was a few days ago.” Steve took a deep, shuddering breath as he felt Bucky’s fingertips touch his bare skin. “You’re great and everything, but not even you can give me enough to tide me over for a few days.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, eyebrow quirked. “Thanks for the compliment.” His fingers slid under the waistband of Steve’s shorts and pinched his bare ass cheek. “Pal.”

Steve laughed - nearly a giggle - and squirmed against Bucky, peeling his undershirt off the rest of the way and tossing it aside to join his shirt on the floor. “What? It’s plenty complimentary.” He laughed again, pressing his hands against Bucky’s bare chest. “It’s just that I’ve got kind of an overactive appetite.”

“Guess you’ll have to find yourself one of those old-timey bordellos.” Bucky grinned, fingers clutching and kneading Steve’s ass. “Like in _Zorro_.”

“I don’t remember _Zorro_ ever having any guys-only bordellos.” Steve cocked an eyebrow at Bucky and flexed the muscles of his ass against Bucky’s hands. Well, what there was of his ass, anyway. “But maybe I just wasn’t paying attention.”

Bucky glanced past Steve for a moment before looking back at him. “Water’s boiling.” Abruptly he stood up from the chair, planting Steve firmly on his feet, though his hands were still clutched around Steve’s ass. “Get out of those clothes while the getting’s good.”

Steve grinned in response. “Yes, sir.” 

And as Bucky dealt with the hot water, Steve hurriedly stripped off the rest of his clothes. He was just peeling off his socks when Bucky set down the last empty pot and turned around.

Steve stood there, proudly nude and grinning. 

Bucky grinned right back, unlaced his shoes and tossed them aside, then quickly skinned his pants and shorts down, kicking them under the table somewhere. He grabbed the Cokes out of the icebox, uncapped them, and held one out to Steve.

“Shall we?”

Steve took the frosty bottle from Bucky’s hand, still grinning, and climbed into the tub. The water was pleasantly hot, and he sank into it up to his neck.

“C’mon in, Buck,” he said, beckoning and holding his Coke up out of the water. “It feels great.”

Bucky sighed as he slid into the water. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the lip of the tub, bringing the bottle of Coke to his lips and taking a long pull. 

After a moment, he murmured, “We should really do this more often.”

“What, bathe?” Steve grinned, unable to resist the poke. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Bucky didn’t even crack an eyelid open. “Asshole.”

“What?” Steve broke up into a fit of laughter at his own joke - the sure sign that it had been a bad one. “Come on, Buck, you left yourself wide open for that one.”

Bucky snorted and took another sip of his soda, though his expression was quite relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as if he were about to fall asleep in the tub.

Well, they couldn’t have that, could they?

“You know,” Steve purred as he slid closer to Bucky, their legs entwining. “This is the first time we’ve been in the tub together since we were about five.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky finally did open his eyes. “You were mouthy and annoying then too.”

Steve tried to glower at him, but it didn’t really work. He knew how difficult he was - sometimes intentionally - but Bucky loved him anyway. And that was something worth hanging onto. Not only hanging onto, but fighting for. Keeping and nurturing and protecting at all costs.

“How come you’re always so fixated on my mouth?” Steve gave Bucky a saucy grin. “Or should I guess?”

“How could I not be?” Bucky looked at him for a moment, then took another swig of his drink. “You never stop using it.”

“It’s all I’ve got.” Steve shrugged, still grinning, and slid so close that he was practically in Bucky’s lap. “Can you blame me?”

“Well,” Bucky’s free hand dipped into the water and found Steve’s waist, “not when you’re naked and wet and on my lap, I can’t.”

“Are you saying you want me to be mouthier?” Steve put his soda bottle down, reached over, and took Bucky’s as well, setting them both down on the shelf next to the tub. “Because I’m pretty sure I can manage that.” He put his arms around Bucky’s neck and leaned in closer. “If you’re interested.”

“This the part where you get me all nice and scrubbed and shiny?” Bucky’s other hand ended up on Steve’s ass cheek. “So you can see how fresh I taste?”

“Well...” Steve wriggled back against the touch of Bucky’s hand, feeling himself start to stir. He leaned forward to whisper in Bucky’s ear as he reached for the washcloth he’d hung over the edge of the tub. “I’d say you’re pretty fresh as it is, but you make it sound so tempting.”

He soaked the washcloth in the warm water, then brought his lips to Bucky’s as he soaped it up and took his time deliberating where he wanted to start. And as he brought the washcloth to Bucky’s chest and began slowly washing, he let his tongue flicker out between Bucky’s lips and wriggled against the growing hardness he felt in Bucky’s lap.

Bucky moaned appreciatively and pulled Steve even closer, the hand holding the washcloth pressed between them. 

“Why’d we wait so long to do this?” Bucky’s lips were soft against Steve’s, his hands beneath the water, massaging Steve’s ass. “We always wait forever to do the good stuff.”

Steve had occasionally found himself wondering the same thing. Even though they’d been doing this for years now, he still thought back every so often to the time they’d wasted. There’d been years, potentially good years they could’ve had together, if only they’d known they could. 

But the best they could do, Steve reminded himself as he always did when thoughts like these intruded into his mind, was to make up for lost time by making the most of the time they had now.

“We’re not waiting now,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s mouth as he pressed himself against Bucky’s body. “We’ll never have to wait again. And I can’t wait much longer.”

“You’re unbelievable. You haven’t even gotten me clean yet.” Bucky shifted slightly, his stiffened cock brushing against Steve’s, and the sensation of being wet and naked and pressed against Bucky sent a happy shiver down Steve’s spine. “And you promised to get me all scrubbed and clean and shiny.”

“I’ll get you clean,” Steve murmured as he rocked his hips, the length of his shaft sliding against Bucky’s in the warm water, and the wonderful feeling of it drew a short gasp out of him. He made a halfhearted attempt to move the washcloth, but other things were more important just then.

“Yeah, promises, promises.” 

Bucky breathed the words against his neck. He took the washcloth from Steve’s hands, dipped it in the water, and wrung it out, a warm cascade of water rushing down Steve’s back. 

“You’ve had a rough few days,” he continued, running the washcloth gently up and down Steve’s back. “You ought to relax a bit.”

Steve leaned his head back and groaned pleasurably. He felt like some kind of royalty, or at least like an oil baron or railroad tycoon. The sort who had servants and valets to pamper him like Bucky was doing just then. Except that he doubted any of those people ever felt the need to make the one doing the washing also feel as good as they were being made to feel.

“Look who’s talking.” Steve ran his hands over Bucky’s back, trailing wet fingertips along his skin. “You work pretty much every day. If anybody deserves a break, it’s you.”

Again, Bucky squeezed the washcloth out, this time over the back of Steve’s neck. Steve let out another groan and tilted his head back.

“This feels like a break.” Steve could hear the tremulous grin in Bucky’s voice, and when he lowered his head to look at him, he was met with a wobbly smile. “Being here with you like this…”

Bucky trailed off and shrugged slightly, then dipped the washcloth in the water and ran it up Steve’s back and over his neck.

“I know, Buck.” Steve reached up a hand to touch Bucky’s cheek, the water dripping down from his fingertips to Bucky’s chin. He smiled back at Bucky, his own smile far steadier. “It’s as close as things are ever going to get to absolute perfection.”

His lips met Bucky’s almost by themselves, and he closed his eyes and let himself melt into the kiss. It was easy, really - just as easy as walking or breathing or just _being_. Loving Bucky, and showing that love, was every bit as natural as any of the thousand things he did every day without thinking about them. 

Much more rewarding, though.

“I still want to get you clean.” Steve drew his head back slightly and gave Bucky a smile. He reached for a tin cup on the shelf, dumped a few cupfuls of water over Bucky’s head, then grabbed the soap. “Nice and squeaky clean for what comes next.”

“You keep hinting at what comes next.” Bucky smiled, his hands once again roaming up and down the back of Steve’s body. “Without ever saying what you’re planning on doing to me.” He pinched an ass cheek, smile widening at Steve’s little yelp of surprise. “You tease.”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Steve’s smile became a smirk, and he lathered up Bucky’s hair and started to scrub the pomade out of it. “You seem like you’ve got the right idea, from the way you keep pinching me down there.”

Bucky said nothing to that, just closed his eyes and tipped his head forward, sighing as Steve worked his fingers into his hair right down to the roots. And as the lather foamed around his fingers, Steve smiled and allowed himself to get lost in what he was doing. 

It was easy enough; he was looking at the thing he treasured most in all the world.

“I should get us some of that fancy Brylfoam we sell at the store,” Bucky finally murmured. “Supposed to be better than washing your hair with soap.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Soap’s been working fine my whole life, as far as I know. What’s so much better about this other stuff?”

Bucky just barely shrugged. “Don’t know, but for a dollar, it better be good.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Steve snorted. “Who’s got a whole dollar lying around to waste on fancy hair soap? No one in Red Hook, that’s for sure.” His brows knit. “How come Mr. Cicalese even has it at the store? Has anybody ever bought it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Few high rollers here and there, spending like they have real money.” 

Steve scratched at the back of Bucky’s head, and Bucky shivered with pleasure in response. His hands tightened around Steve’s waist and he looked up at him, something like adoration clear on his face. 

“But I’m not really thinking of them just now.” Bucky licked his lips. “I’m right where I want to be.”

Steve felt a sappy smile crawl across his face, and he grabbed the tin cup off the shelf to rinse the suds out of Bucky’s hair. It took a few pourings, but eventually all the soap was gone and Bucky smiled up at him, wet hair flat against his head. 

“Me too, Buck.” Steve bent his head to Bucky’s, kissing him on the forehead and then the lips. Then, smiling mischievously, he rocked his hips back and forth and ground himself against Bucky’s lap. “Well, I’m almost right where I want to be, anyway.”

“You want to get out?” Bucky groaned. “Get into bed?”

“Nope,” Steve panted and rocked his hips again. “Not yet. I like you here.”

Bucky’s cock swelled into hardness under Steve’s grinding, and Steve wondered just how good a lubricant the slippery soap might make. Maybe if he moved his hips in just the right way and positioned himself at just the right angle, Bucky might just slide effortlessly into him.

It was worth trying. More than worth it. 

He reached down beneath the water with the bar of soap and washed Bucky’s cock very thoroughly while continuing to rock his hips. 

“You skipped the rest of me,” Bucky breathed, though he made absolutely no move to stop him.

“I skipped right to the best part.” 

Steve set the soap back on the shelf. He reached down and positioned Bucky, the head of his cock pressed against Steve’s ass. 

“Are you ready?” he murmured, and without breaking his gaze, he slowly lowered himself down on Bucky’s stiffened cock. 

The head of Bucky’s cock stretched him wide. The soap was enough of a lubricant, but the water provided a delicious, new sort of friction. This couldn’t be the only time they did this.

Bucky’s eyes widened, his fingers tightening around Steve’s waist. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled moan.

Steve slid down Bucky’s cock further, and further still, until he was sheathed tightly around him.

Bucky, trembling, nearly unraveled right then and there. He leaned forward, head bumping against Steve’s, fingers digging into Steve’s hips. 

“Jesus…” Bucky just managed. “You feel… you feel so…”

“Yeah,” Steve gasped, biting his lip to keep from hurtling headlong over the edge as he felt Bucky pulse and throb inside him. He didn’t dare move too much, or else everything would be over far too quickly for the both of them. And he wanted this to last as long as he could. “You too.”

For a long moment, Bucky simply breathed unsteadily against Steve’s neck. His wet hair already seemed to curl in the steam, or maybe it was just Steve’s imagination. Everything seemed sharp and tightly focused.

Bucky’s fingers shook. “Move,” he whispered.

Simply hearing Bucky speak that one word came close to pushing Steve too far. How he’d manage to move at all without coming apart at the seams was a mystery to him. 

Everything felt so incredible right then - the warmth of the water, the luxurious feeling of having just gotten clean, the way Bucky’s cock was twitching erratically inside him - and it was all he could do just to clench his muscles the littlest bit and squeeze the base of Bucky’s shaft.

Which dragged a shuddering cry out of Bucky.

“You liked that?” Steve let out a shaky breath. 

The question really hadn’t been necessary, but he’d still wanted to ask it. Wanted to hear Bucky’s answer, not just feel it in his response. And so he clenched again, not moving any other part of his body, and listened to Bucky’s gasp of pleasure before whispering the question again.

“Do you like it when I do that, Bucky?”

“Yes.” Bucky trembled against him. His hands came up out of the water to clench against Steve’s back. “Yes, yes.” He blew out a shuddering breath. “Now move.”

Steve closed his eyes and arched his back, dragging himself backwards and pulling himself torturously off of Bucky’s cock until he nearly popped free. He waited for a long, agonizing second before slowly rocking forward again, swallowing inch after wonderful inch until he was pressed firmly against Bucky’s hips again. 

And it felt so indescribably good that he couldn’t hold himself still. It took all the effort and will he had just to slow his movements down, but he couldn’t have stopped if his life had depended on it.

Of course, none of that prevented the sudden idea from crossing his mind that if anyone were to walk in just then, there would be no hope of talking their way out of it.

“Good thing nobody’s about to walk in on us,” Steve muttered. “All the ‘this isn’t what it looks like’ in the world wouldn’t save us.”

Bucky let out a startled puff of laughter. “What are you talking about?” He moaned the words as Steve continued to slide up and down his shaft. “This is a perfectly innocent bath here. You even washed my hair.”

“Innocent. Sure.” Steve laughed breathily. “Maybe for somebody who was deaf and blind. And maybe an idiot besides.”

God, he loved him.

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was another gasp as Steve rocked against him. The still-warm water splashed between them, and Bucky’s cock throbbed inside Steve as he clenched for all he was worth, and Steve could feel himself teetering on the brink, and suddenly he couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Bucky…!”

He dug his fingertips into Bucky’s back and bore down with everything he had, and he spilled endlessly into the water while Bucky spilled endlessly into him, and he rode the wave of sensation for as long as he could before collapsing against Bucky’s heaving chest, his heart thudding madly and his eyes half-closed and unseeing.

“Bucky…” he whispered again.

“Stevie…” Bucky murmured, his fingers threading through Steve’s hair. “God, I love you.” His chest rose and fell, and Steve could hear his heartbeat thudding against his ribs. “You know that?”

“I do.” Steve smiled, wheezing a bit as his wind came back to him. He tightened his arms around Bucky’s body and pressed his cheek against Bucky’s chest. “And I love you too, Buck. So much it hurts.”

For a moment, Bucky seemed content to scratch his fingers against Steve’s scalp. Finally he murmured, “The water’s starting to look pretty gross. Bed now. And food. Not in that order.”

While Steve drained, cleaned out, and dragged the baseboard back over the bathtub, Bucky reheated the ham, noodle, and creamed mushroom casserole and set the table. Neither of them bothered getting dressed, though they did wrap towels around their waists. 

They ate part of the casserole and chased it down with Cokes and Twinkies, and then Steve washed a few dishes while Bucky gathered up their scattered clothing and carried it into the bedroom.

He imagined it was what being married might feel like.

He dried his hands on the towel that was still wrapped around his waist and headed for the bedroom, the idea of how unfair it was flashing across his mind for a second before he got to the door and saw Bucky sprawled out face down on the bed, his towel who knew where. His arms and legs were splayed, and his bare ass looked like the most clearly-painted bull’s eye in the world.

God, he loved him.

Bucky lifted his head. “Hey there, sailor.” He glanced at Steve. “Going my way?”

“You mean to bed with my ass in the air?” Steve cocked an eyebrow and tried not to smile. He failed miserably, of course. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well then.” Bucky waggled his eyebrows. “You better come show me a thing or two.”

Steve couldn’t have asked for a better invitation, and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste. He leaped onto the bed, landing right beside Bucky and bouncing on the springy mattress. He’d wanted to land right on top of Bucky, but his leaping ability only went so far.

“I’ll show you all I’ve got,” he grinned as he wriggled up against Bucky. “For as long as I’ve got.”

“Then you better make good use of me now, buddy.” Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and rolled over, so that Steve was laying atop him. “I’ve got work in the morning and I don’t want you waking me up for any midnight snack, so you’d better get your fill now.”

“I promise nothing.” Steve slid his arms around Bucky and shifted his hips, pressing his swelling erection against Bucky’s cock. “You’ll just have to wear me out, I guess. If you don’t wear out first.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but that didn’t stop him from pressing a kiss against Steve’s mouth. “Jesus, you’re already raring to go. I feel like an old man next to you.” He grinned. “We’ll be old and grey, and you’ll still be waking me up at midnight for a little horizontal refreshment.”

Steve pushed back into the kiss, rocking his hips against Bucky’s and imagining how good it was going to feel when they let go together. He always loved being face-to-face with Bucky, their cocks pressed together while they came, moaning into each other’s open mouths as their hands scrabbled at each other’s bodies…

He was giving himself a massive hard-on.

“So catch up, old man.” Steve grinned and gave Bucky’s ass a pinch. “You don’t want to get left behind, do you?”

“I can outrun you,” Bucky murmured, hooking his legs over Steve’s ass, pressing their bodies tightly together. “Even with my cane.” 

“A cane?” Steve snorted, rocking his hips forward again and feeling a wonderful jolt of pleasure shoot through him as his cock slid against Bucky’s. “Please. I’ll be in a wheelchair. All I need to do is find a hill and you’ll never catch me.”

Bucky actually burst out laughing at that. “You’re a punk.” Before he even caught his breath, he began planting little kisses all over Steve’s face. “But you’re mine somehow, and I love you.”

“You bet I’m yours.” Steve closed his eyes and beamed. “And I love you to the moon and back.”

Time seemed to fall away as they lost themselves in a haze of feverish kisses, roaming hands, and moans and gasps of pleasure. Steve reached for the glass jar of Vaseline that he kept on the bedside table, and he slid into Bucky with a satisfied groan, Bucky’s legs still wrapped tightly around him, heels pressing against Steve’s ass. 

“I love you,” Steve whispered in a shaky, strained voice as he felt his hip bones press against the muscle of Bucky’s ass. “God, Buck, I love you so much…”

Before long, their bodies were slick with sweat, Bucky’s hair curling in the delicious heat they had worked up between them. Bucky was so close - he always got louder the closer he was, and Steve loved that he knew that about him - and then suddenly he was over the edge, clutching Steve to him, pulling Steve’s own climax out of him in several hot bursts.

For a long moment, they lay there limp and panting, sticky with sweat and fluids. 

“So,” Bucky finally said, “the bath was pointless.”

Steve laughed breathlessly, reaching up an exhausted hand to brush a few sweaty tendrils of hair off of Bucky’s forehead. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He turned his head, resting his cheek against Bucky’s chest. “We were clean for as long as we wanted to be.”

Bucky ran his hand up and down Steve’s back, fingers skating over the knobs in his spine. “One day I’d like to get us an actual shower. It would save so much time.”

“Can we actually do that?” Steve lifted his head off of Bucky’s chest and craned his neck to look him in the eye. “I wouldn’t even begin to know how to screw around with the plumbing to make a thing like that work. Plus there’s only cold running water, so we’d be stuck with freezing cold showers all the time.” He sighed. “I’d rather have hot running water than a shower, if I had to choose.”

Bucky hummed in response to that, then abruptly rolled Steve to the side and sat up. He reached over the side of the mattress, grabbed one towel off the floor and tossed it to Steve, then set to cleaning himself off with the other towel.

“I think we still have a few Twinkies left.” He glanced at Steve. “Want one?”

“Yep.” Steve toweled himself and smiled over at Bucky. 

The way Bucky had talked about things just a moment ago - how he’d like to get a shower for _them_ , and how it was an idea for _one day_ \- it sounded as though he wanted to be in it with Steve for the long run. Which made Steve so happy he could pop, but at the same time gave him a twinge of regret that he didn’t want to follow too far right then. Because what they would be allowed to have wasn’t the same as what, say, Frannie and Jerry had.

“I love you like crazy, Buck.” Steve tossed the sticky towel into the hamper and rolled over to put his arms around Bucky. “You know that?”

“Yep. I do.”

Bucky dropped a kiss on Steve’s forehead, stood and tossed the towel aside, then walked bare ass naked into the kitchen, coming back a moment later with the last two packages of Twinkies. He tossed one of the packages to Steve, then sat back down on the bed and tore into his own package. 

“Eat up.” He shoved an entire Twinkie into his mouth, and not in a suggestive way. “Or I’ll eat them for you.”

“I believe you.” 

Steve hunkered down protectively over his Twinkies, as though Bucky might suddenly leap up and snatch them out of his hands to devour them. Which probably wasn’t far from the truth; Bucky had always been only too happy to eat the food Steve hadn’t eaten himself. Steve had lost count of the number of breakfasts he’d started and Bucky had finished, and if he wasn’t careful, Bucky might just make good on his word.

He took a bite of Twinkie, the banana cream filling almost bursting through the sponge cake, and licked his lips. “These things must be so bad for you. But they’re so delicious.”

“Nah, they’re not bad for you.” Bucky lounged back on the bed and popped the second Twinkie into his mouth. “Filling’s made of banana, banana is a fruit, fruit is healthy, so everything’s jake as far as Twinkies are concerned.”

“Gotcha.” Steve chuckled through his mouthful of Twinkie. “Guess that’s why apple pies are so good for you too, right? Or cherry soda?”

“Especially when you add a scoop of vanilla ice cream to cherry soda.” Bucky grinned. “Vanilla ice cream’s made of beans, and beans are the magical fruit, after all.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be ‘the _musical_ fruit’?” Steve laughed and took another bite.

Bucky snorted. “Semantics. Anyway…” He leaned over the edge of the mattress, dug around in his pants for a second, and came up with something that he quickly put in front of Steve. “Got something for you.”

That something turned out to be a small pile of money.

Steve stared at it for a second, not completely understanding, and then looked up at Bucky with his mouth gaping. “That’s forty bucks.” A pair of fresh crisp tens, three fresh crisp fives, and five crumpled ones. “This is… for me?”

“Well…” Bucky shrugged. “Yeah.”

“How?” Steve couldn’t tell what to feel. Mostly, he felt shocked and stunned. In front of him was enough money to pay off Mr. Bonetti for all the back rent he was owed, but… “Where’d you get this?”

Bucky rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin up on folded arms. “I asked Mr. Cicalese for an advance.”

Steve’s eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. “An advance?” He shook his head. “Bucky, this is about a month’s salary here. And you’re giving it to me?” He reached out and touched the pile of cash tentatively, then pushed it back towards Bucky. “I can’t, Buck. What are you going to do for money? What about your ma and Becca?”

Bucky scowled. “We’re fine, Steve. I worked it out with Mr. Cicalese. We’re spreading the advance out over a few months.”

Steve looked dumbly down at the money again, not really able to put it all together just yet. “But… you’re just giving this to me?” He looked up at Bucky, his throat beginning to close and his eyes prickling. “I don’t know what to say.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened, though he kept it focused on the far wall. “Say you’ll pay your damn landlord in the morning.”

Steve’s eyes welled up, and he couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice as his hand closed around the money. “You’re the best friend I ever had, Bucky.”

Bucky glanced at Steve for a second, his mouth working before he finally muttered, “Pay your rent.”

Steve flung his arms around Bucky. The money wound up getting put into an old envelope at some point, with Mr. Bonetti’s name scrawled on the front in Steve’s piss-poor handwriting, and the pair of then wound up tangled around each other in bed, Steve curled around Bucky with his arms wrapped as tightly as he could manage.

And as he drifted off to sleep, Steve suddenly realized that for the first time since his ma had died, things were going to be all right.

Because of Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE FIRST  
> Aaaand scene! All's well that ends well, right? Let me know what you thought.
> 
> NOTE THE SECOND  
> I'm not done with this series yet. It takes me a while to write new installments, but my aim is to take them all the way to modern times ONE WAY OR ANOTHER.


End file.
